


Timing

by ameliacareful



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, Crowley (Supernatural) and Dean Winchester's Summer of Love, Dean believes it doesn't count if it's a threesome, I don’t tag top/bottom, Implied Dean/Crowley, M/M, Wincest - Freeform, or there are triplets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:14:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22166218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ameliacareful/pseuds/ameliacareful
Summary: Crowley suggests that Dean may not know his brother as well as he thinks he does.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 21
Kudos: 67





	Timing

Dean Winchester was pretty. Crowley liked that. He like pretty things. Also expensive scotch—not always single malt. The whole single malt obsession was pretentious, sometimes a blend could be exquisite. He liked good suits. He liked when people screamed, too.

What he didn’t like was that Dean was…so common in his tastes. The current bar was a shotgun, door in the front and door in the back. It was dark. Crowley was drinking margaritas, from a mix, with a plastic flamingo toothpick. He didn’t like margarita mix but Dean did not frequent the kind of bars where they squeezed the limes fresh.

It was three in the afternoon and Dean was bored.

By ten tonight he’d be extremely bored. Dean was new to being a demon and he had not yet figured out what to do with the emptiness that came with it. By ten he’d be a mix of boredom and unstable rage and there was no telling what he’d do. That was what Crowley personally waited for. Dean could create the most interesting trouble when he was really and truly bored.

But for now, Dean was just mid-afternoon bored and drinking boilermakers to try to get drunk. It took a fair amount of alcohol for a knight of hell to get drunk, even a baby one.

The jukebox was playing “Fever”, Elvis crooning about it.

Dean grinned.

“What?” Crowley asked.

“Sammy likes this song,” Dean said.

Oh God. Sam. Dean didn’t talk about Sam much but when he did, he went on and on. Crowley thought Sam was also pretty and liked the idea of a demonic Sam a great deal. What he didn’t like was Dean talking about Sam. Dean obsessing about Sam. Dean wanting to murder Sam. Blah blah blah Sam.

“During sex,” Dean said.

Crowley knew he was angling to be asked how he knew that but anyone who didn’t think that the Winchester brothers were boning was blind and deaf…and possibly dead as well. “Is this foreplay or does he bang you to this?” Crowley asked.

Dean pouted a little. “He doesn’t bang me,” he said. “I mean, do I look like a guy who would let someone bang him?”

“First of all, who tops and who bottoms is pretty unpredictable, Dean,” Crowley said. “It’s like determining your gender by your astrological sign. Second, even if you cling to antiquated notions like tough guys only top, Moose is what, 6’ 4”? 6’ 5”? He’s not dainty.”

Dean did not like that at all. Crowley smirked.

“I like to top,” Dean said, surly.

“I’m sure you do,” Crowley said. “So Sam does you to music?”

“Yeah. He’s got a playlist. He really gets into it, you know? He does this thing were he puts my dick in his mouth and there’s this spot under the frenulum that’s really sensitive and he massages it with his tongue—”

Crowley laughed.

“What?”

“He’s timing it,” Crowley said.

“Timing what,” Dean asked, suspicious.

“How long he gives you head.”

“No he’s not,” Dean said. “He loves it. Really gets into it.”

“Of course,” Crowley said.

“I’ve got stamina!”

“So not the point,” Crowley murmured.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re right,” Crowley said.

“I know I’m right,” Dean said. “I know more about that guy than he knows himself.

Crowley nodded.

Three…

Two…

One…

“What do you mean, timing me!” Dean exploded.

“So, I’ve given some head in my time,” Crowley said.

“Yeah, I know,” Dean said. Dean had been there. And Crowley knew he was good.

“I was a crossroads demon. Started at the bottom of the heap. I’ve been a woman a lot of times, spent ten years as a trophy wife.” Well, the term ‘trophy wife’ hadn’t existed in 1879 but that was beside the point. He’d possessed a beautiful woman. It had been interesting, being beautiful. And useful in some ways. But really too much trouble. All the maintenance and it skewed everyone else’s behavior in such annoying and predictable ways.

“Sam isn’t a woman,” Dean muttered.

“Even when you like sex, and trust me, I’m game for anything you can think of,” Crowley reached over and grabbed Dean’s beer. He took a sip and then leered.

Dean’s upper lip curled. The man was so easy.

“Even when you like sex, pleasing someone can be…well, work. This man who was my husband, his deal required that he feel loved. So I made him feel loved. But sometimes, you’re doing the thing, and you’ve got his dick flush against your soft palate and you’re doing the no gag thing and really, well, lets just say ten minutes is a little over three Beatle’s songs. He’s not keeping track of time, and ten minutes, especially it there’s been foreplay, is long enough that you can climb on him or go for the finish or whatever and still curl his toes.” Crowley shrugged and fished his flamingo out of his margarita and licked it. The margarita was technically a Mexican Martini which meant it had a jalapeno stuffed olive in it. The combination of lime and brine was a lot better than Crowley expected. Worth remembering.

Dean stewed, probably going back in his mind, trying to remember how many songs played while they were having sex.

“Oh Squirrel. Sorry to burst your bubble.” “Fever” ended on the juke box. “Walk on The Wild Side” started. Crowley thought about asking what other songs Sam liked. Crowley had almost gotten Lou Reed’s soul but the guy just wouldn't sell.

Dean was good to his partners, even as a demon. He liked people to have a good time. This was going to eat at him, Crowley could tell.

He sang under his breath:

_You give me fever when you kiss me,_  
_Fever when you hold me tight._  
_Fever in the morning,_  
_Fever all through the night._

Abruptly Dean stood up, “Let’s get out of here.”

“Not going to finish your drink?” Crowley asked, all innocence.

“Need a place with more girls,” Dean said. He stalked out of the bar without so much as looking over his shoulder.

Dean always did call Sam 'Princess'. And wasn't that the ultimate trophy wife?


End file.
